My heart don't wish to roam
by Darkly Ironic
Summary: In which Castiel attempts full emotional disclosure, Sam wonders when his life became a soap opera, and Dean is an idiot. Also, everyone talks. A lot. Dean/Castiel


**A/N: **Written for my hc_bingo square "learning to be loved." Title comes from Neil Hannon's song "Love Don't Roam."

* * *

Dean's not running away. He's not. Taking off like this in the middle of the night, leaving behind a confused Sam and a stonily resolved Castiel, is just because he needs some air, not because he's scared and certainly not because of anything Cas might have said.

The night is cool and crisp, and Dean rolls down his window so the air can hit his face. It's better than a cold shower for clearing his head. Empty countryside streaks past until Dean guiltily realizes just how fast he's going and eases up on the gas. By then his hands are shaking against the steering wheel enough that he either has to pull over or risk wrecking his baby. He pulls over.

Dean takes a few deep breaths, leaning over to rest his head against the steering wheel. This isn't like him—this kind of emotional freak-out is more Sam's thing than his. And yet—

He just hadn't been expecting it. Cas is always so saying weird shit, so it hadn't been much of a surprise when he'd cornered Dean after dinner and told him quietly, "Dean, I want you know that I love you." His face had been set and focused and just a little bit—scared?—though Dean hadn't paid any attention to that.

"Yeah, I love you too, man," Dean had said, brushing past him like it didn't mean anything, and how stupid had he been to say that?

Dean groans. Cas is his best friend. Hell, his only friend. Of course he'd said that, because that was the kind of mushy, touchy-feely response that Cas liked. Anyway, they both knew that stuff like that wasn't serious.

Cas had caught his arm, holding him in place. "Dean, I think you misunderstand me. I love you."

"Oh," Dean had said, like an idiot. "Cas, I don't—"

"You don't have to say anything," Cas had interrupted.

Then Dean had just stood there as Castiel walked away, almost bumping into Sam on his way out the door. Sam had looked between them, frowning. "Dean, What—" Dean had grabbed his jacket and keys and almost run for the car.

On the seat next to him, his phone starts to vibrate, jittering against the leather. Dean picks it up and hits the call button without looking.

"What?"

"Dean, where the Hell are you?"

He stifles another groan. This is a big enough mess without Sam going all bitchy on him too.

"I'm fine, okay? I'm not in a ditch, or wrapped around the tree, or in the friggin' ocean." Then he hangs up.

He's just thinking that was maybe a little harsh when the phone buzzes in his hand.

"Sorry," he says when he answers.

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam's voice is gentle, and that just makes Dean angrier.

"I just need some space, okay? I'll be back before morning."

"No."

Dean blinks, confused. They've both been raised to respect that when a man says he needs to be alone, he needs to be alone. "What?"

"You need to come back here and make this right. I don't know what the Hell you said to Cas, but he's freaking out."

"I'm _not_ freaking out, Sam." Castiel's tinny voice in the background sounds impossibly far away, but Dean can still practically hear the air quotes. His stomach twists uncomfortably at the angel's voice, and for a second, he thinks he's going to throw up.

"I—I can't," he tells Sam weakly.

His brother's answering snort holds a world of meaning. "Yeah, you can. Get back here."

There's a few seconds of silence while Sam waits for an answer, and Dean tries to think of what he can say that would convince Sam that him going back to the motel right now would be a very bad idea.

"Dean, please come back," Sam says finally. "You're starting to freak me out, okay?"

Dean sighs. "Fine. Just don't say I didn't warn you." He ends the call and tries to breath like a normal person again.

The drive back to the motel is quicker than Dean wants it to be. His heart is thudding painfully by the time he pulls into the parking lot, like he's gearing up for a big hunt.

When he reaches the door, Dean realizes that he forgot to bring a door key, but Sam opens the door before he has to knock. Sam looks worried, and he gives Dean a quick glancing once-over before he lets him in.

Cas isn't there, but the knot in Dean's chest doesn't loosen.

"Where is he?" he asks Sam, desperately hoping he doesn't have to clarify.

"Sent him on a beer run," Sam says. "Figured we'd need it."

"Is that safe?" Dean asks. "Letting him loose in the big city like that?"

The bitch-face Sam sends in his direction is enough to curdle milk. "He's not a child, Dean. You know that, so stop being a dick."

"Did—did he tell you what happened?"

Sam crosses his arms. "Apart from that he thinks you hate him now, no, not really."

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "That's not—I'd never—"

Sam considers this. "He told you how he feels about you, didn't he?"

So, his worst suspicions are correct, and Sam is a scheming little traitor. "You knew about this?"

Sam closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly, like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. "The question is, who didn't? He hasn't been exactly subtle."

Which when Dean thinks about it…

"Fuck."

Sam nods sagely. "Exactly."

Dean sinks onto the bed and buries his face in his hands.

"Seriously," Sam says, sitting on the other bed. "It would be hilarious if it wasn't so pathetic."

"I guess he can't help it," Dean says carefully. Really, who wouldn't fall in love with _this_?

"Yeah, I wasn't talking about Cas."

Dean mutters something inaudible but probably uncomplimentary in his brother's general direction.

"I told him to just go ahead and tell you." The humor's gone from Sam's voice now, and he sounds almost apologetic. "I thought you must have already guessed. I didn't think you'd be such an emotionally-constipated jerk about it."

Dean looks up sharply. "Dude, are you trying to _set us up_?"

Sam stands, throwing his hands in the air. "Look, I just want you to be happy." He glances at the clock. "He should be back soon." He grabs the bag with his laptop and heads towards the door. "I'll be in the room across the hall."

"Wait, we got a second room? When did that happen?" Dean asks, but Sam's already gone.

So, Castiel is in love with him, has been for a while, and everyone knows it except for him. Great.

Dean learned a long time ago that he doesn't _do_ love. Cassie had ended in disaster, and while they'd patched things up, it was still painful. Lisa had been amazing while it'd lasted, but just duty and shared—_something_—hadn't been enough to hold them together. Hell, the only person Dean would say he loves who's still around is Sam, and that's a whole different kind of love, whatever their crazy fangirls on the Internet say.

He does like Cas. He likes him a lot, if he's being completely honest. He _gets_ Dean, and it's not just because of the whole "raising him from Perdition" thing. Or maybe it is. He owes Cas more than his life, he owes him his _soul_, something more powerful and intimate than Dean's comfortable thinking about. Castiel saw into his deepest, most secret thoughts and ugly snarls of emotion and still believed that Dean was worthy of his love. It's more than Dean's ever asked for, and more than anyone outside his family has given him.

The door opens, and Dean tenses. Castiel freezes in the doorway when he sees Dean.

"Hey, Cas." He's trying for cool, but it mostly just sounds like something's stuck in his throat. "Look, I—I'm sorry about earlier."

"There's no need to apologize, Dean." Castiel sets the plastic bag he's carrying down on the unsteady table, and there's a promising _clink_ of beer bottles. "Where's Sam?"

"Across the hall, apparently." Dean's feeling more awkward by the second. "Why did we get another room?"

"I believe Sam wanted to give us space to, uh, talk." Castiel isn't looking at Dean. Apparently, the torn handle of the plastic bag is fascinating.

"Oh," Dean says. "Okay."

"Personally, I don't see any need to discuss this," Cas says in a rush. "It was wrong of me to bring it up, and I apologize for that." His tone is even and emotionless, but there's a flicker of sadness in his eyes that Dean wouldn't even have noticed a few years ago.

"I don't hate you, Cas."

Cas looks at him, frowning.

"Sam told me you said I hated you. I don't. I couldn't."

"But neither do you share my sentiments towards you," Cas says simply, like it's as much as fact as "the earth is flat," and "pie is good." It stings.

"I didn't say that." Dean's not even sure why he's protesting. All he has to do is let it go, and Cas will never mention it again. They can go back to how they were before. Except for the part where they can't, because Dean knows Castiel loves him, and nothing will ever go back to the way it was. It should scare him, or at least be weird, but all Dean can fill is an odd fluttery feeling somewhere in his midsection.

"No, I suppose you didn't." Cas is staring r_ight at him_, and his voice is somehow deeper than it is normally. He takes a few steps closer to Dean, and Dean stands up. There's only a few feet between them now, and for all their conversations about human's need for personal space, Dean's never been this aware of Castiel's presence.

"Are you going to kiss me?" Dean asks, only half-joking.

"Do you want me to?"

Oh God, he is so not ready for this. He sits back down, breaking the current of tension between them.

Cas settles carefully on the edge of the bed next to him like sitting is something new and strange that should only be attempted with caution. In spite of himself, Dean smiles.

"I know what you've been through, Dean," Cas murmurs. "But I want you to know that in whatever capacity you need me, for as long as you need me, I will not leave you."

Dean's breath catches, but he tries to sound normal. "You might be stuck with me for a while then."

"Good."

There's a moment of hesitation, then Castiel puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, a solid, physical reassurance that Cas isn't going anywhere.

Dean doesn't pull away.


End file.
